


Living Is Easy With Eyes Closed

by bigbidumbass



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass
Summary: Tom is a prince, Will is a stableboy. They- how do you say it? Fall in love. There is angst, drama, romance, smut (easily skippable if that's not your thing).This is the longest fic I've ever written but it was so worth it. Enjoy.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	1. The Rain Was the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Some say the world will end in fire,  
> Some say in ice.  
> From what I’ve tasted of desire  
> I hold with those who favor fire.  
> But if it had to perish twice,  
> I think I know enough of hate  
> To say that for destruction ice  
> Is also great  
> And would suffice.  
> -Robert Frost

It was the rain that started it all. Really, they might not have ever crossed paths had it not been for the rain, because the rain was what had caused Caviar-the horse he’d named while drunk one night- to throw a shoe.

Tom had brought her to the nearest farrier, and that was where he’d seen Will. He was a common stableboy, but he’d helped the farrier get her ready. Caviar was known to be fussy around everyone except Tom, but Will had calmed her down immediately, stroking her face, murmuring soft words of comfort. It was like nothing Tom had ever seen, and he found himself entranced.

As the farrier was placing the final touches on Caviar’s shoe, Tom watched Will with the other horses—he seemed to have a way with them. Will carried a certain gentleness with him, a soft smile that occasionally bordered on the corners of his lips. Tom couldn’t help but develop a fondness for him, even in just the short time it took before he was out on the road again.

Even after he’d returned home, he couldn’t stop thinking of Will, the way he’d calmed Caviar so easily, the way the horses seemed to know exactly what he wanted from them. And the way he’d carelessly dragged his hand through his windswept hair—that affected Tom prevalently as well.

It took him a couple of days before he gave in and asked Will to work at the palace after that, thinking he could be of use. And, to tell the truth, he was pretty and Tom liked looking at him. Though Tom could tell he wasn’t exactly ecstatic to leave his home, they both knew that the palace paid well, very well, better than any other job. Not only that, but it would better his reputation, and increase his chances of work afterward if he ever chose to leave. Too good to pass up, even for Will. 

He agreed, but Tom noticed that his jaw tightened as he did. Tom didn’t know whether or not to feel guilty. After all, wasn't he helping Will by offering him a job? Wasn’t it a much better position to be in?

Once Will arrived, Tom couldn’t help it—he trailed him on most of the occasions he was free from his duties. He soon came to see how quiet Will was, how little he’d add to conversation. Tom talked a lot, and Will’s general silence only heightened it. 

Tom also found that he could not make Will smile, and even his best jokes left Will stone-faced. Simultaneously, he attempted telling himself that he wasn’t developing feelings for a common stableboy. That didn’t stop him, unfortunately. He still found his cheeks going a bit flushed when Will was near, even the smallest actions leaving Tom stumbling over his words.

In the times that Will did respond, Tom would sense hints of annoyance—not enough to be cruel, but enough to make him a little self-conscious. Granted, he knew he talked too much, even more than usual because of his nervousness around Will, but who else was he to talk to? His father would never be an option, and his mother had been distant ever since Joe’s death—neither were interested in the trivial matters of his life.

Not that Will seemed particularly interested either, but he at least didn’t yell at Tom when he had been rambling on for too much to his distaste. 

One day, Tom decided to take Caviar on a ride out into the woods, stretch his legs. But he walked into the stable to find Will talking to the horses. It was a precious, sacred thing to walk into, one that rendered Tom’s heart to ache with yearning.

He froze where he stood, staying silent—he didn’t want to disturb the scene. He couldn’t quite make out what Will was saying, but he could hear the fondness of Will’s voice, the soft, teasing tone of it, as if he were scolding the horse like a child. 

Deciding it was better not to interrupt, Tom exited the stables, took a stroll around the garden, trying to push Will from his mind, and then came back. Will was cleaning the coat of one of the other horses, Saffron, and he only gave Tom a soft glance when he entered. Tom went straight to Caviar, feeding her bits of an apple.

“Your Majesty,” Will greeted him.

“Oh, don’t call me that,” Tom said, face twisting into distaste at the title. “Please, it’s Tom.”

Will gave a nod and went back to washing Saffron. 

“Taking her out for a ride?” he asked Tom, noticing he was getting ready to go.

“Yes,” Tom said. “I need the fresh air.”

Will didn’t respond, so Tom led her outside, standing back as one of the other stableboys saddled her up.

“Ready to go, Your Majesty,” the boy said. Tom vaguely remembered that his name was Kilgour. 

“Thank you, Kilgour,” he said, mounting her. “And, please, call me Tom.”

Kilgour nodded, and Tom moved to ride off when he heard yelling behind him.

“Tom! Stop!” someone was shouting, and Tom groaned hearing the voice. Mackenzie, his father’s personal advisor. He turned to see him, striding down the lawn towards him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Mackenzie asked. 

“On a ride,” Tom said. “As you see.”

“Your father wants to see you!” Mackenzie exclaimed, as if he’d expected Tom to know that, “You can’t go riding about on that horse whenever you feel like it!”

Tom was half-tempted to ride off anyway, but he begrudgingly dismounted. 

“What does he want to speak to me about?” he asked. “I’ve done my duties for the day.”

“Does it matter?” Mackenzie asked. “He’s asked to see you, so go and see him!”

Tom sharply inhaled, passing Caviar back to Kilgour. 

“Sorry for wasting your time,” he told the boy.

“Oh, no, Tom, you didn’t,” Kilgour said quickly. 

Mackenzie turned to look at him, fire in his eyes, and Kilgour wilted under the man’s gaze. 

“Thomas is the future king,” Mackenzie said coldly. “You will address him properly, as ‘Your Highness,’ or ‘Your Majesty,’ or you will no longer have a job here. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Kilgour replied. Mackenzie stared him down for a second before he turned on his heel and walked off. God, he was awful.

“Sorry about him,” Tom told Kilgour. “He’s a bastard. I won’t let them sack you, don’t worry.”

The boy bit back a smile and gave a quick nod, taking Caviar back to the stables.

Tom went up to see his father, wondering what he possibly could have wanted. When he arrived, his father didn’t acknowledge his presence, keeping his eyes fixed on the letter he was reading.

“Mackenzie said you wanted to see me?” Tom asked. 

“Sit down,” his father instructed, and Tom obeyed. He had to wait a few seconds before his father finally set down the letter and looked him in the eye. Tom swallowed down anxiety—he was rarely called up to see his father unless it was for a scolding.

The king sighed and sat back in his chair, cold eyes fixed on Tom’s face.

“Thomas, do you know why you’re here?” his father asked.

Tom wracked his brain, trying to think of something, _anything._ But he truly couldn’t find anything.

“I—no?” he fell upon.

His father tsked. “No? Nothing comes to mind?”

Tom’s cheeks were growing pink now, the embarrassment unbearable. “No,” he said softly, not meeting the king’s gaze.

“Well,” the king replied, “It seems to have slipped your mind Kings are meant to be wise.”

He held up the letter he’d been reading, as if to emphasize his point. “But your tutor says that your heart isn’t in your lessons. Your scores are poor.”

Tom sat in a beat of confusion. “What?” he asked. “I’ve been working harder every day, I-”

“Quiet,” his father snapped. “The scores speak for themselves, and I don’t want excuses. Obviously you’ve not been trying enough.”

Tom shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand—my scores are just as good as Joe’s were, even better, sometimes, and...” he trailed off seeing his father’s face

At the mention of Joe, his father’s face had turned cold, his shoulders tense. His lips had drawn into a snarl.

“Don’t you dare bring him up,” his father barked. “You are not Joseph. You will never be like Joseph. He was twice the man you are. A brave and valiant warrior, and what are you? A foolish boy who can’t wield a sword, who can’t seem to figure out how to get proper marks in his studies!”

He stared at Tom, breathing heavily. “No,” he went on, “Joe’s scores may not have been equal to yours, but he did what you never could—he led his people.”

There was a moment of silence as Tom processed what his father had said. He swallowed hard, shrinking into himself, wishing he were invisible. But he wasn’t. He was sitting in front of his father, who was staring at him now, waiting for a response.

“I’ll try harder on my studies,” Tom said softly, numbness flooding into his chest. “Anything else?”

The king returned to his mail. “No,” he said simply. “That was all.”

Tom stood and exited. Years ago, he would have cried at that. Now he was almost desensitized, but not quite—his father’s words sunk into him, piercing him deep, but he could not heal himself from them, could not have the sweet release of catharsis.

No, he could feel too much and simultaneously couldn’t feel at all. One thing was for sure: he wished Joe was there.


	2. Rejection and Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What sound was that?  
> I turn away, into the shaking room.  
> What was that sound that came in on the dark?  
> What is this maze of light it leaves us in?  
> What is this stance we take,  
> To turn away and then turn back?  
> What did we hear?  
> It was the breath we took when we first met.  
> Listen. It is here.  
> -Harold Pinter

A few days later, Tom found himself at the stables again, watching Will take care of Caviar.

He started another story, one about how he’d used to pick cherries with Anne, the daughter of a Duke, how they’d dared each other to climb as high as they could, but she’d been too afraid to climb back down, and how the tailor’s apprentice, Baumer, had been forced to talk her down.

“This Anne, you’ve talked about her before,” Will said. 

“Oh, I— yes, she’s my friend,” Tom stammered, a little surprised that Will had spoken, and even more surprised that he’d remembered that.

“Do you like her?” Will asked.

Tom’s brow furrowed as he briefly considered the question. “Of course I like her,” he said, wondering why Will had asked. “She’s a really nice girl. We grew up together.”

Will pinched his lips together and looked down, obviously not satisfied with his answer. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I mean, do you  _ like _ her?” 

Tom stumbled a bit, trying to find words. Tom had never exactly thought about it before, but a bit of him had always supposed Will had  _ known  _ how Tom felt about him _ ,  _ at least a little. Hadn’t his actions been a little obvious, even if he hadn’t meant them to be? Hadn’t the days he’d spent in the stables been an indicator? Was Will’s question what it seemed, or was his meaning more? 

Before Tom could think about it very much, he realized that he’d gone too long without answering, and he sputtered out an answer, the first words that came to his mind:

“No, I—I like you.” 

Those were absolutely the wrong words to find. Will stood frozen in place, his steady hand on Caviar’s coat unmoving.

“What?” he replied. Apparently Will had  _ not  _ found Tom’s actions obvious, and Tom’s brain struggled to come up with a response. He tangled his hands in the hem of his shirt, 

“Well, I- I just thought you might have wanted to know,” he said quickly. Will turned to look at him. His eyes sent daggers, piercing through Tom. Tom recoiled slightly. 

“Why would I have wanted to know?” Will replied, eyes seeming to see straight into Tom’s soul.

_ Oh.  _ Those words stung, but Tom couldn’t help continuing to talk, still trying somehow to save the situation. 

“Well, I... thought maybe you’d be interested,” Tom said. Those also were not the right words. Tom hadn’t expected Will to be interested–-he hadn’t even meant to tell Will in the first place. Will shook his head in disbelief. 

“Right, because of course you’d know what your people are interested in,” Will retorted, turning away from him again. 

An insult. Tom scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean, then?” he asked, standing a little taller. Will returned to his silence and didn’t even look up, continuing to brush Caviar’s mane. 

“If you have something to say, then you might as well just say it,” Tom fumed. 

Will, again, didn’t respond.

Tom was hurt, and angrier than he should have been- not necessarily at Will, just at everything. At his role, the expectations on him, the way people looked at him as if he wasn’t even a person, but a piece of property. And how Will, the one person who Tom had always thought treated him normally, seemed to be doing the same thing. Why had he dropped his guard, even for one second, when he knew it would only hurt him more? That anger, that anger that bubbled, that seethed in him, led to what he said next.

“Is this how you treat your future king?” 

He regretted his words the moment they’d left his lips— what a stupid, pretentious thing to say. And, as Will finally turned to face him with fire in his eyes, he regretted them so much more.

“You want to know what I have to say?” Will snapped, throwing down the brush, “Fine! Everyone else may grovel at your feet, but I won’t—I think you’re a spoiled, selfish brat, who can’t be bothered about anyone but himself; who expects everyone else to disregard their own desires just so you can get whatever you want, all the time! I think you’re a poor excuse for a prince and a disgrace of a king, one who won’t even make visits to town to see how his subjects  _ really  _ live.” 

Will paused briefly in his rant, flicking away the hair that had fallen in his eyes. “You know,” he continued, “When your brother was in line for the throne, I thought this kingdom might have actually had a chance! But now he’s gone, and we’re stuck with  _ you _ –- a naive, ignorant  _ baby _ . You’re just like your father, and I feel sorry for your future wife, for the agony she’ll have to endure ever being around you!”

Will stopped, breathing heavily, jaw setting as he stared Tom in the face.

Tom had been well-trained at keeping his emotions hidden, but he couldn’t stop the hurt from flashing across his features upon Will’s words. There was an awful, vulnerable moment as he grasped for words.

“Well, if that’s how you really feel,” Tom finally said, voice thick with the approach of tears. He raised his chin and turned to leave, and for a moment he thought Will might say something, but there was only silence behind him. He’d barely made it out of the stable before his cheeks were wet, burning with humiliation and offense. He quickly inhaled, his breath hitching with a sob. God, he hadn’t cried in years- not since Joe had died. The feeling almost felt unnatural now, and it certainly wasn’t welcome. 

He quickly wiped his face, trying to act as if nothing had happened, masking his appearance with a smile, and headed for his room. Of course, there was no chance he’d make it there without being stopped at least once, but he had to try at least. And naturally, there were people- wanting to ask him about various things. A part of him wondered if Will was right, if that was why his words had stricken Tom so harshly. 

But had Will just expected Tom to let his heart down, to bare who he really was to the world? Because that certainly wasn’t what his father had taught him. It was the opposite, in fact- he’d always been taught to hide his feelings, to conceal every thought. 

As for visiting his own people… perhaps Will  _ was  _ right—Tom had never been exposed to how anyone but royalty lived. 

It was the next morning he decided to see what Will meant- he woke earlier than usual, scrawled a note for his father with some excuse for where he’d gone, and put on a cloak to conceal his face. 

It was too early for Will to be awake, thankfully, which meant he had free access to Caviar without having to run into him. It took a while to strap on her saddle, as he hadn’t done it in ages. That bothered him, the slow loss of skills. Even getting dressed that morning had been a clumsy process without the servants, and it had made him feel extremely foolish. What kind of a prince was he if he couldn’t even dress himself, or saddle his own horse? 

He snapped the saddle into place, finally getting it on properly, and hoisted himself up. Without looking back, he headed for the nearest town- Enduin.

It took him half an hour to get there, but he didn’t mind the ride- it felt good to get air into his lungs, to just be himself without anyone watching.

He stopped once to take a stroll in the woods. He missed this, these soft, personal moments with only him and the trees, the soft song of the birds above him. Then he continued. 

As he neared the town, his throat tightened with anxiety- he honestly had no idea what he was about to see, and it scared him. Though he had originally been in a good mood, it quickly fell away as he arrived. 

It was a desolate sight. Tom’s father had always been quite strict raising him—he’d constantly been frustrated with him, no matter how hard he’d tried, but even so, Tom had always looked up to his father. Always thought him to be a perfect king. Now he could see the opposite was true.

The people looked starved and exhausted, their sunken eyes trailing him as he rode through the streets. He felt so guilty, contrition eating at his insides. Their clothes were tattered, shoes worn down- some of the children didn’t even have shoes. 

Dismounting, he led Caviar down the road and tethered her up. He tried to ignore the people who watched him- he knew he looked out of place. It had become clear what Will had meant now, how pompous he must seem to everyone, with his fancy clothes, servants, and stupid complaints. 

Tom regretted ever having made a fuss about anything- none of that had mattered at all, not with the way these people suffered every day without a choice. The shame he felt, being here, knowing his father was responsible for all of this… it was like nothing he’d ever felt.

As he entered the bar, he felt everyone’s eyes on him. He quickly dropped his gaze, keeping his eyes on the floor. 

“New here?” the barmaid asked, and he looked over at her. 

“Er- yes, I’m just visiting for the day,” Tom said. 

“Is that so?” She looked a bit amused, eyeing Tom from head to toe. He shifted, a bit uncomfortable. 

“Well? Are you getting a drink or not?” she demanded. 

Tom quickly sat down, pushing a coin her way. 

She took it, flashing a smile. “That’s what I thought,” she said, pouring him a pint. 

She passed it down to him, and he took it. It was strong, burning the back of his throat. 

“So, what business brings you here?” the barmaid asked, and Tom nearly sent the liquid down the wrong pipe.

“Just wanted to see the sights, I suppose,” he told her, eyes watering.

Shaking her head, she grabbed a glass, wiping it down. 

“I’m afraid there’s not much to see,” she said. “The king made sure of that.”

“The king?” Tom asked. “How?”

She looked at him, suspicious. “You’re not one of the king’s guards, are you? One of his fancy associates here to spy on me? I don’t want any trouble.”

“No,” Tom lied. “Nothing like that.”

Well,” she said, “If you  _ really  _ don’t know what’s become of this town, then listen well: our king is a cruel one.” She paused, as if waiting for Tom to say something. When he didn’t, she went on: 

“The bastard taxes the hell out of us, insists we divert a majority of our crops to the soldiers- soldiers who march around doing nothing all day but harassing us. And what does he do when we report them? Nothing.” Her grip on the glass was much tighter now, knuckles going white. Tom was almost worried that she’d break it. She glanced up at him, giving a humorless chuckle when she saw his face.

“And now,” she continued, “We’re left with not enough crops to eat or sell, no ways to make money, and no one to protect us. The king should care about his people, but we’re not worth a pig’s spit to him. We starve as he lounges about with all the food he wants, not bothering with us at all.  _ That’s  _ how we’re ruined.”

Tom was silent for a moment, processing her words. “I’m sorry,” he eventually said, and she snorted.

“Sorry?” she said, cackling. “Are you the king?”

Tom’s face lost a bit of colour, and he spat out a quick no.

“That’s right, you’re not,” she barked. “And if you’re not the king, then you’re not sorry. You didn’t do it.”

Tom thought back to his childhood, where he’d visited this town. It had been so different then, when his father had been, well… a father and not a king.

“Was it always like this?” Tom asked. 

“Do you always ask so many questions?” she snapped in response, and his cheeks went pink. She watched him for a moment, then softened. 

“No,” she said softly. “We used to be beautiful. But that was when the old king was here, God rest his soul.”

The old king- Tom’s grandfather. Tom remembered him, full of vibrance, full of wisdom. He’d been a good king, known for peace. 

Tom realised his father had turned the opposite, pushing aggression and violence, war. He’d raised Tom to be the same way, and Tom hadn’t known it til now. No longer- Tom could not turn back. He finished his drink and left, giving the barmaid a quick thank you. 

No, he would not be like his father. 


	3. Tom Has A Change of Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills  
> 'Til the landslide brought me down  
> -Fleetwood Mac

Over the next few months, he changed. It was unavoidable, with what he’d seen. It was like he was finally awake, and he could not go back to sleep even if he’d tried. And he certainly didn’t try- he was glad he hadn’t been left to live in ignorance. 

His transformation had not gone unnoticed, especially not when he’d started attending his father's proceedings again. He’d always thought of them as boring and had gradually stopped attending, but now he knew they were necessary. 

Tom was no longer blinded from his naivete, and he watched as his father’s true character was now brought into the light.  _ Our king is a cruel one,  _ the barmaid had said. It was true- his father looked down on his starving subjects with no mercy and no compassion. Tom almost couldn’t believe it.  _ Almost. _

It took him a while before he worked up the courage to speak up against him- he’d never argued with his father before, he’d always been so eager to please him. Now he loathed him, but that didn’t stop the fear from plaguing him every time he thought about it.

He’d finally found the words during a meeting with one of the subjects from Lithon, a small town down East. That was another thing Tom had worked on- getting to know the kingdom. Lithon was a poor town, not too different from Enduin- they had come to ask for more food. His father denied the request immediately, barely bothering to hear them out, blathering some excuse about how the kingdom didn’t have supplies to spare. A lie- they had plenty of food to give, and so much of it was going to waste that Tom could barely believe it. Then the king had excused them, starting to wave them out.

“Wait,” Tom had called, hands shaking but voice steady. “If we transferred some of the food from the military, we’d have enough for them and other towns in need.”

The court went silent. His father slowly turned to look at him, as if he were in disbelief about Tom’s boldness.

“Thomas, you are not king yet. It is not for you to say,” he said pointedly.

“But-”

“ _ Son,”  _ the king cut him off, his temper wearing thin. “As I said,  _ we don’t have the supplies. _ ”

“But we do!” Tom said, frustration pulling at his voice. 

His father was angry now, face closing to stone. “Tom, we will speak privately on this matter, now hold your tongue.”

Tom shook his head and ignored him, and continued on:

“Listen, nearly half the soldier’s portions are going to waste, they have too much, and you know it! If we just-”

“Thomas Alexander Blake, that is  _ enough _ !” the king roared, bringing Tom to silence. There was a moment as the king regathered himself, a moment quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. Tom almost wished he hadn’t stopped talking, but he knew now that it would do nothing- his father was too stubborn, and Tom had no command yet. He watched as the king waved the subjects out, then turned to the guards near Tom. 

“Take him back to his room,” Henry told them. 

“And Thomas,” he said, turning to his son, “Never, and I mean  _ never _ , embarrass me like that again. Do you understand?”

Tom gave a small nod.

He was escorted back to his room, where he tried to brace himself for his father’s wrath. It didn’t work, of course- he could never be properly prepared. His father chastised him for what seemed like an eternity, talking of discipline, of the shame and disgrace Tom brought him, of the way Tom had insulted him and the entire royal family. He’d then banned Tom from attendance of royal proceedings for a good six months-  _ longer if he could not behave _ , his father had emphasized- and left. The moment the king was out the door, Tom started to cry.

He wished he was stronger, braver, with a will of iron, a natural charisma like others. He wished his words were impactful instead of ignored. He wished he was good enough for his father. He possessed none of those qualities, though, and he curled up with his pillow.  _ A disgrace of a king,  _ Will had called him. It was those words that steeled him, and he stopped mid-sob, sitting up. 

His father’s words might have stung, but they didn’t matter. What mattered was the people, the people who starved at this very moment. He might not be able to change his father’s mind, but his father couldn’t stop him from helping- he’d just have to find a way to be creative. Although he couldn’t fix everything that was wrong, he did what he could.

His main priority was food- getting the otherwise wasted portions from the soldiers down to the malnourished towns. The next morning, he went around the soldier’s stations, trying to keep note of the main foods that were going to waste. Will was watching him, which was uncommon- they had avoided each other since Will had told Tom his true feelings. Tom paid no mind to him.

It took a few weeks to get consistent numbers of the food intake that was going to waste, and during his free time he drafted down plans- the shortest route to get the food from the castle to the towns. A soldier named Leslie had taken notice of what he was doing- Tom had begged him not to tell the king, but Leslie only wanted to help, explaining he had family in the towns and had been hoping to do something similar. Tom agreed to let him assist, and soon, there was a small, secret group of people involved—Kilgour from the stables, Baumer, the tailor’s apprentice, Muller, a kitchen worker, and more. Tom had offered to pay them, but they refused to take any wages for their work.

They got a plan in order as soon as they could manage it safely, even rehearsing the route they’d take. And then it was set. A weekly drop off of food, gathered from the military portions that would have been wasted. 

The night before the first drop off, Tom found himself buzzing with anticipation. Leslie handed them each a drink and prepared a small toast: “To those in need. May they all see better days by our hand,” he said simply, and the group all raised their glasses in agreement.

Tom didn’t sleep. His nerves wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he rehearsed the plan over and over again, his thoughts wandering from subject to subject until the sky had lightened. It was still too early to leave, but Tom didn’t care- he couldn’t stay in his bed for another minute. He dressed himself (something his servants had gotten accustomed to him doing), scarfed down a biscuit for breakfast, and ran to meet the others. 

It seemed they had all suffered the same fate, looking tired but cheerful- ready for the task ahead. 

The ride out went by fast, he was so buzzed up on nerves. But it was also wonderful, knowing that he was helping others, that whole villages of people would be fed because of what they were doing. And Leslie had also suggested collecting clothes up for donations, which Tom had taken to keenly.

It was a success, more than a success. The people all stood shocked when they arrived, looking at the food the riders had brought with them. They passed it out, and Tom doubted he would ever forget the joy on their faces. The other villages all shared the same enthusiasm, and by the time they were riding back to the village, the group was all in such a good mood that they were singing songs.

And it went like that, every time. Tom got quite used to it, the elation of giving. The word soon got out, and more and more people joined them. 

He’d thought he had it all settled, but his security all dropped when a certain someone walked into a meeting. Tom had thought he’d moved on, but as he looked up at Will, he realized he hadn’t, quite. His heart still panged at the sight of him.

It seemed Tom couldn’t get a break from him.


	4. It Goeth Before the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wouldn't it be nice if we were older  
> Then we wouldn't have to wait so long?  
> And wouldn't it be nice to live together  
> In the kind of world where we belong?  
> -The Beach Boys

The last thing Will had expected Tom to do was change. He’d been around royalty long enough to know that no one listened, no one cared, not unless they were raised right. Joe had seemed to be raised right, from Will could tell. But Tom? Will had always thought that Tom had failed where Joe succeeded—Joe had been humble, kind, a natural leader. Tom had always come off as pretentious, conceited, uncaring. He’d seemed not to possess any genuine emotions, or if he had, he’d surely not been showing them.

No, Will hadn’t liked Tom at all. Which, he’d made quite clear to Tom, of course. But the moment Will had snapped off at Tom, he’d expected to lose his job, to perhaps even be thrown in prison. He’d waited to see Tom’s face mold into anger, to be escorted out, but neither happened. Instead, a flash of vulnerability—Will had been shocked to see that Tom was on the verge of tears, and that had awoken something inside him. A sort of awareness, a wake-up call for him to see that Tom was not what Will had thought he was.

Will rarely felt that he had done something wrong, but seeing Tom cry, he was ready to eat his own words. But he didn’t know how. Instead, he silently watched Tom leave. He didn’t know what he could have said, nor if he wanted to say it in the first place. After all, he’d meant it. Hadn’t he?

For the next few days, Will still found himself on guard, as if expecting someone to show up and arrest him at any moment. But still, there was nothing, and Will relaxed. He was terribly conflicted—he kept feeling as if there were some kind of catch to it, as if he’d been tricked, and one day Tom would do something awful to get back at him. But, on the other hand, he realised how severely he’d misunderstood Tom. It was easier to get to know him from afar, and Will came to realise all the misconceptions. 

No, Tom was not so conceited, he was just bad with words. Maybe a bit spoiled, maybe a bit naive, and not properly prepared for the throne, but not uncaring. Will had read his awkwardness as some sort of pretentiousness. His shame haunted him now, as Tom avoided him like the plague.

Even more than that, in the ways of being spoiled, of being naive, Tom was changing. It had started when Will had heard the rumors of Tom arguing with their father at court. That had shocked him beyond belief—Tom had never attended his father’s proceedings, but now he was apparently going regularly. And he’d openly disagreed on policies, he’d called out the egregious amounts of food that was going to the military and being wasted. Will felt a bit proud at that, almost, knowing that Tom had finally gone against his father’s rules, stood up to the cold bastard. It was something Joe would have done. 

But it didn’t stop there. Will watched Tom’s actions after that, watched him sneaking around to different military camps and taking down notes. He had wondered what Tom was doing, but hadn’t thought much of it. And when the word had gone around that a small group of people was dropping off food to the villages, Will had volunteered to join. But he hadn’t expected to see Tom there. They stared at each other a moment in shock.

“Tom? Why are you here?” Will asked, not cold but surprised.

“He started this whole thing,” Leslie snapped. “It’s because of him that we’re able to do this at all. Don’t be an asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to—I was just surprised, that’s all,” Will said. Tom didn’t meet his eyes. It was undeniably awkward. He went on for the night, trying to process it. Luckily, they weren’t around each other much. 

But then he and Tom were assigned to do a drop alone a few days later, and the way down was torturous—Tom obviously didn’t want to be near him, and Will kept wanting to find a way to apologise, but the words never came. Eventually, he got sick of the awful silence and decided that anything was better.

“How did you come up with the name Caviar?” he asked Tom, nodding towards the horse. Tom’s cheeks went pink, and he stared at Will for a second, as if he were waiting for some kind of cruel punchline. It never came.

“I was drunk,” Tom finally admitted. “And one of the knights had suggested it as a joke, so…”

“I’ve seen stupider names,” Will said. “It suits her, somehow.”

Tom seemed to be surprised at the warmness in Will’s voice, and he shifted uncomfortably. There was another moment of silence.

“Tom, listen, in the barn, what I said...”

Tom glanced over at him. “Can we not talk about that, please?” he requested, cheeks going red. “I got the message. You don’t have to say anything else.”

“I’m sorry,” Will said. He wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for what he’d said in the barn, or if he was saying sorry for bringing it up, but either way Tom gave a nonchalant shrug. Will felt awful—he hoped he could eventually redeem himself.

“Did you hear the group arguing today?” Will asked, trying to save the situation a little. “About what was the best name for the new foal?”

“No,” Tom said. “What were they saying?”

“Well, they were saying that he should be named Maximus, because he looks ‘like a regal horse.’ And others wanted to name him Phillip,” Will said.

Tom seemed to relax a bit, the hint of a smile finally working its way to his lips. “Doesn’t matter either way,” he said. “Leslie named him Mead last night. Said mead was made from honey, and the coat looked like honey, so… he was quite drunk as well.”

Will allowed a full smile to place its way onto his lips. “Naming a horse while drunk,” he laughed fondly. “That seems to be a common theme in these parts.”

Tom gave him a smile that sent a jolt into Will’s stomach, and Will was incapacitated for a moment until he looked up and saw the approaching village. They entered in silence, Will following behind Tom until Tom came to a stop in front of him.

“Right, we’re here,” he said, dismounting. Will was awkward, not knowing what he was doing— he’d never done this sort of thing before. But Tom immediately took charge, instructing him on where to go and what to do, handing him things to give people. It was a side of Tom that Will never had never seen, and he admired it. Maybe Tom wasn’t so different from Joe after all. 

By the time they had finished and rode back, Tom thankfully was his usual chatty self, telling a story about how Muller, one of the kitchen workers, had been mistaken for a Duke by a new palace worker, and how Tom had had to fix the commotion.

Will listened intently, asked questions, laughed when it was appropriate. Tom once gave him a strange expression, one that Will couldn’t put his hand on. 

And after that day, they got much closer. Will realised that the more you got to know Tom, the more charismatic he was. At least, around other people—Tom still seemed to be more reserved around Will. And then, there was the elephant in the room as well. The fact that Tom liked him. Or, he once had. Will hadn’t known what to feel about that.

The truth was, Will had always thought Tom was very pretty, but he’d also always thought that his pretentious demeanor had balanced that out. Now, though, as he’d come to see that Tom was really not pretentious at all, there was nothing to compensate for it. There was nothing to stop Will from getting attached to soft curls and bright blue eyes, and the way Tom’s cheeks flushed so easily, the way his face scrunched up when he laughed. 

And his feelings only got stronger, the more he was around Tom. It became less so that Tom was pretty, and grew into something much more. It grew into Will laying in bed thinking about the way Tom would come up with all sorts of clever plans, the way he’d seem to coax a smile out of you when you were sad, the way he always had some good story on hand. The way he always seemed to calm Will. No, these feelings developed stronger and harder over the better part of a year as they worked together, and Will couldn’t shake them no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to care for Tom— it was that he had no idea how Tom felt in return. 

Tom might’ve been attracted to Will a good ten months ago, but who was to say that he still was? Or that he’d ever even forgiven Will for what had been said? Tom didn’t seem to mind him around anymore, but Will could still feel some sort of hesitance, as if Tom would hold back everything he wanted to say. He hated himself for that, hated the fact that Tom was afraid to speak freely around him. He wanted to sort everything out, figure out exactly what he wanted to say. 

Yes, he’d apologize. He’d tell Tom how he felt… well, if he could muster up the courage. If the situation was right. Until then, he lingered around Tom. Tried to gauge if Tom had similar feelings, or if he still bore some sort of outright anger at what had happened. 

And then, one night, a breakthrough. They were both a bit buzzed, sitting around the fire. Kilgour and Baumer were off talking, and Leslie was passed out drunk next to them. 

Tom looked over at Will, as if he wanted to say something. Will waited patiently, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of his chest. Finally, Tom took a big swig and turned to him, determination in his eyes.

“Will you tell me what changed?” he asked Will, whose brow furrowed at the question.

“What do you mean?” Will asked.

Tom exhaled sharply. “I mean that you hated me, and then you saw me a bit later, and we hadn’t spoken at all, but for some reason you didn’t hate me anymore. What changed?”

“Oh,” Will stammered quickly, “Well, I- _you_ changed. And I... realised I’d been quite harsh in how I viewed you back then. I misread a lot of the things you said.”

“Like what?” Tom asked.

“Like… in the barn, when you told me you liked me. You were saying all kinds of things that at the time I thought were pretentious, but I later realised you were just nervous—that you were stumbling over your words,” Will said, watching Tom immediately look away.

Will fidgeted with his hands, trying to figure out what to say next.

“And I was caught up in my own perception of you,” he continued. “I’d heard you were like your father before I met you, and I went in with that in my head.” He looked up at Tom for a reaction, but Tom’s face was stone, unreadable. Will felt the need to explain more, though. He decided to keep talking.

“I’ve… had bad experiences with royalty,” he explained, “And you seemed so unlike your brother that I thought—I _assumed_ you were quite vain, spoiled beyond belief. But I never took the time to really look. I thought I had you down to a T, and I thought for sure you were going to sack me for saying what I did. Maybe even throw me in prison.”

Will paused for a moment, running his hands through his hair. Tom was silent, listening intently, so Will went on:

“Tom, when you left, and I still had my job, I realised I didn’t know you at all. And… I realised I’d blamed you for things outside of your control. Like your brother’s death. Which wasn’t fair to you at all— you’re the one who had to live through that, anyway. But I still always held some sort of animosity towards you, because I’d had so much hope that your brother would fix the kingdom. But it wasn’t your fault he died, it wasn’t your fault you were suddenly in line for the throne. It wasn’t your fault for something you couldn’t have possibly been prepared for.”

Will stopped desperately for a moment, hesitating. 

“Listen, I never gave you the benefit of the doubt, or a chance to prove yourself,” he said. “So when I saw you doing all these things, speaking back to your father, delivering food to those who starved… when I thought back to all you’d said to me, I realised. Not only that I’d been wrong, but that you’d also, well, listened. I never thought you would listen. And I’m very, very, sorry, Tom.”

Tom let out a long breath. “Don’t be,” he responded. “You were right, about everything. I only cared about myself—you woke me up to that. It’s only because you said what you did that I ever changed.”

“No,” Will replied, “Because the person I thought you were, never would have changed, no matter what I said.”

Tom looked at him for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the ground.

Will stared at him, his breath starting to come faster. He felt a sudden rush of exhilaration, the kind that floods into your bones when you’re about to say something big.

“Tom, can I ask you something?” Will said. Tom met his eyes and gave a small nod, obviously a bit nervous. Will was nervous too. He tried to bid his hands stop shaking. 

“When you told me you liked me,” Will started, “That day in the barn—do you… do you still feel the same?” 

Tom was quiet for a long time, looking down at his hands. Will felt as if he were on fire, waiting for a response, his hands trembling like never before.

“Yes, Will,” he murmured. “I do.”


	5. Love's Sweet Confession, the Key to Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how gently we'll talk,  
> Oh, how softly we'll tread.  
> All the stings,  
> The ugly things  
> We'll keep unsaid.  
> -Stephen Sondheim

As soon as he’d said the words, Tom was overcome with anxiety. Yes, Will had asked him how he’d felt, and yes, he’d answered honestly, but… Well, the truth was that Tom wanted nothing more than Will to say that he felt the same way. He’d hoped for it, but knew that was too much to ask for—life was never so kind to him. 

He looked up at Will, trying to guess what he was thinking. He didn’t know what Will was going to say, and he was terrified. He almost didn’t know if he could stand being turned down again. 

“Tom,” Will started, “I-” 

Will looked at Tom for a moment, and then came closer, close enough that Tom was able to tell he smelled of lavender. Too close, as it made Tom’s breath hitch, and he tried not to look at him.

“Tom, I need you to understand that… the way I felt then? It’s nothing at all like I feel now,” Will said. “It’s the  _ opposite. _ ”

Tom didn’t know how to reply to that. Luckily, he didn’t have to, because the next thing he knew, Will was next to him, softly sweeping the hair out of his eyes. Tom nearly jumped at the contact, at the warmth of Will’s hand. 

He couldn’t look at Will. He was afraid that if he did, he’d either burst into tears or kiss him, neither of which were a good option at this moment. 

“Tom,” Will said intensely. “I… I think I’m in love with you, I- when I’m near you, it’s like my heart is bursting out of my chest. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I… you’ve become such a good, kind person. A good  _ King.  _ And I understand that what I said back then must have hurt, I understand if you don’t want me anymore, or if I’ve ruined it, but, if I haven’t, if there’s a chance we could maybe… be something more than friends...”

Tom stared at him numbly. He almost didn’t believe that Will had really said what he had, that he really felt the same. 

“You love me?” he asked, a few steps behind. 

Will sighed. “Tom, can I- can I kiss you?” he asked. 

Tom’s whole body turned into ice— he couldn’t answer fast enough. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Please.”

Will placed a hand at Tom’s cheek, smiling as he ran his thumb across it. Tom was feeling like he couldn’t breathe, and he clutched onto Will’s arm as Will tenderly leaned in and kissed him. God, it was wonderful. Soft, at first, then not so soft, as Tom gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. He briefly wondered if this was really happening, or if it was a dream, then pushed the thought away—if this was a dream, he wanted to stay asleep forever. As Will ran a hand through Tom’s curls, he smiled against Tom, pulling away for a moment. They looked at each other, both a bit in shock, then pulled in for another kiss. 

This time, Will started to kiss down Tom’s jaw, his neck, and then placing a tender kiss on his forehead. 

Tom was a bit sad to let go, but the kisses were soon replaced by Will taking him in his arms, which was a fine alternative

“I love you too, you know,” Tom said, and Will laughed. 

“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said, taking Tom’s hand. Tom leaned against him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt things might be alright.


	6. An Act of Declaration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure smut! If that's not your thing, don't worry, you can go ahead and skip this chapter- it doesn't affect the plot at all! If it is your thing... enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care what consequence it brings  
> I have been a fool for lesser things  
> I want you so bad  
> I think you ought to know that  
> I intend to hold you for the longest time  
> -Billy Joel

It was a few nights later, just over a week, that a knock came at Tom’s door. He opened it to find Will, standing there a bit anxiously.

“Hi,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Tom replied, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. He watched Will come in and set a small bag down, then they looked at each other a moment, Will giving Tom a nervous smile.

“I— I thought maybe you wanted to-” Will stammered.

“Yes,” Tom said quickly. He didn’t know what Will had thought he wanted to do, but he really was up for anything— it wasn’t as if it was his first time, but with Will it felt different, somehow. He’d wanted Will for ages, wanted him so bad. 

The two of them watched each other, smiling, then Will grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, gently taking Tom’s face in his hands as he kissed him.

Tom choked out a small noise in the back of his throat, clutching Will’s shirt. Will pulled back, trying to read Tom’s expression.

“Tom,” he said. 

Tom leaned up into him, pressing his lips to Will’s again, and this time the kiss was more passionate. His hands were in Will’s hair, Will’s hands were on his face, his thumb along Tom’s jaw, and then he broke away to plant kisses down Tom’s neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck,” Tom muttered, partly against his own will. 

Will stopped, breath hot against Tom’s throat.

“Do you want me, your highness?” Will asked, a bit of teasing dropping into his voice.

“You know I do,” Tom said, finding for the first time that he didn’t mind the title. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Will’s lips.

Will pulled away after a moment, a smug expression on his face. “I do know,” he admitted, “But I want to hear you say it.”

Tom laughed at that, gripping the collar of Will’s shirt.

“I want you,” he murmured into Will’s ear, taking pleasure in the shiver that the words sent down Will’s spine. “I want you so _fucking_ bad. I want you all over me, every single inch, and I want you to have your way with me, to fuck me until I can’t see straight. Is that enough of me saying it for you?”

He pulled away to look Will in the eyes, grinning cockily. Will was smiling, but his eyes were plagued with need, with lust.

“Your wish is my command,” Will breathed, and Tom felt his stomach jolt as Will kissed him again, pulling Tom’s shirt over his head.

Tom shivered as it came off, perhaps from the frigid air, or the cold stone behind him, but more likely from anticipation. Will took his time undressing him, running his fingers over Tom’s slowly more and more disrobed body.

“Like what you see?” Tom asked, a bit boldly as Will ran his hands down Tom’s chest. 

“Fuck, of course I do,” Will said tenderly. “You’re beautiful.”

“Good,” Tom said, “It’d be a bit awkward if you didn’t.”

That drew a soft chuckle from Will, who had finally stripped off Tom’s trousers. Tom was feeling a bit left out, and he tugged Will’s shirt up, over Will’s head.

Will tossed his shirt away, then turned back to Tom, feeling him through his underwear. Tom suppressed a moan as Will stroked him a bit. 

Will pulled away for a moment to grab oil from his bag, then rubbed it into his hands.

“Hard for me already?” Will asked. “You must want me to help relieve some of that pressure.”

Tom had a hard time answering, as Will had completely pushed the fabric away, and now was running a hand along Tom’s length. He settled for a soft whine, not caring if he looked desperate.

“Fuck, Will, I want you to fuck me,” he groaned, tilting his head back against the wall

Will smiled. “Oh, I will, Your Majesty, just not yet.”

Those words affected Tom more than he wanted to admit, and he fought back a noise as Will slowed down his rhythm. 

“Gonna have your way with me?” he asked, yanking at Will’s trousers as he watched Will’s eyes go dark with want. “Take me against the wall?”

Will chuckled darkly. “If you’re trying to get me to move faster, it won’t work. You’ll have to beg for that.”

Tom’s response was a breathy, choked noise against Will’s lips as Will pulled in for a kiss, stroking Tom’s cock ever so slowly. Tom didn’t last long before a soft, “please,” had left his lips.

“What was that, my love?” Will asked, a bit of teasing entering his voice. ‘I couldn’t hear you.”

“ _Please_ ,” Tom spat, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep his voice steady.

“Please what?” Will asked, grinning as he watched Tom’s face. He was enjoying this far too much.

“Please fuck me,” Tom begged. “Fuck, just fuck me!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Will murmured, turning Tom to face against the wall, rubbing more oil into his fingers before prepping Tom. He added one finger, unbearably slow, then moved up to two. Tom let out soft whimpers as he did, bracing against the wall. 

“Will, I want you inside me,” he begged. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Will growled, dropping his trousers. He started out carefully, as if he might hurt Tom if he went any faster. 

Tom, a bit frustrated, let out a faint moan. “Are you even doing anything back there?” he asked cockily, “I can’t feel anything.”

Will snarled, pressing Tom against the wall as he thrusted into him. Gently gripping Tom’s hair, he gave it a soft pull back until his lips were next to Tom’s ear, so close that Tom could feel his breaths on his neck. “Can you feel it now, my prince?” he asked, a bit smugly.

Tom was a little too incapacitated to answer, panting as he leaned into Will’s grip, and Will chuckled. “That’s what I thought,” he breathed, letting go of Tom’s hair.

Tom’s hands were braced against the wall, and Will placed his own over them as he started to thrust again, building up a steady rhythm.

“How rough?” he asked Tom.

“ _Rough,_ ” Tom replied.

“As you wish,” Will said, grinding his hips in harder as he nipped on Tom’s neck, moving a hand down to stroke on Tom’s cock. Admittedly, he was a bit cautious to go as hard as he could- he couldn’t help but think of Tom as somewhat fragile.

“Christ,” Tom panted, “If only the- the kingdom knew- _fuck-_ how you treated your prince.”

Will scoffed, gently gripping Tom’s neck with his free hand to pull him closer, before leaning in. “What, want me to stop?” he murmured.

Tom let out a shuddering exhale at that, stiffening a bit. Will froze, concerned, immediately taking his hand off of Tom’s neck.

Tom turned to face him, his innocent blue eyes wide. He gripped Will’s hand and placed it back on his throat. “Do it again,” he asked quietly.

Will had to take a second to process that. 

“Wait, are you sure?” he asked. “You like that?”

“Yes,” Tom said. “I’m absolutely sure.”

They looked at each other for a second, then Will nodded at the wall, dropping his hand from Tom’s neck. 

“Jump up first,” he said, and Tom did, putting his hands on Will’s shoulders to get leverage as he jumped, then wrapping his legs around Will’s waist. 

Will returned his hand to Tom’s neck, very carefully and gently squeezing. Tom laughed a bit, and Will could feel the vibrations travel through his throat. 

“Will,” he said, “Harder. I’ll tap your shoulder if it’s too much.”

Will squeezed a little harder, watching for any signs that Tom wanted him to stop. Tom didn’t, but Will got a bit nervous holding it for longer than a few seconds, and he dropped his grip.

Tom inhaled deeply upon release, then looked down at him, a teasing smile on the corner of his lips. “We can work on that,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

Will deepened it, biting down on Tom’s lip, and Tom moaned, tucking his face into Will’s neck as Will fucked into him again.

“Will, fuck,” Tom panted. “I love you.”

“God, I love you too,” Will replied, gripping onto one of Tom’s thighs.

Tom embedded his hand in Will’s hair, and Will pressed against him. He was starting to get close, pressure starting to build.

“Tom, fuck, how close are you?” he asked.

“Close,” Tom said. Will returned one of his hands to stroke Tom’s length, and Tom let out a strangled noise, yanking on Will’s hair. 

“Fuck, Will, I’m _really_ close,” he breathed. 

Will got the picture, matching his strokes with his thrusts, his breaths coming heavier as he got nearer and nearer to climax.

“Will, I’m- I’m going to come,” Tom said, gripping onto Will’s back.

“Come for me, my love,” Will murmured, and Tom went over the edge, head tilted back against the wall, his back arching against the stone.

The sight of that alone sent Will with him, trying to savor the soft noises Tom was making, leaning against the wall to avoid his knees buckling.

“Fuck,” he said once he’d recovered a bit, burying his head in Tom’s neck. Tom relaxed his hold on Will’s hair, brushing his hand through it instead, mussing it about. Will stepped back, helping Tom down from his previous position and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?” he asked Tom, who nodded.

That night, as the two of them got in bed, Will planted a kiss on the top of Tom’s head, wrapping his arms around him. He never wanted to let go. He hoped he’d never have to.


	7. Tom Sees a Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many things I would have done  
> But clouds got in my way  
> I've looked at clouds from both sides now  
> From up and down and still somehow  
> It's cloud's illusions I recall  
> I really don't know clouds at all  
> -Joni Mitchell

A few months later, Tom found himself in the stable late at night, talking to Will, when he heard voices outside. 

“Who do you reckon that is?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Will replied, brow furrowing. “No one’s supposed to be here this late.”

They both tensed as the door opened, and a man led a horse in, stopping cold when he saw Tom. His face was weathered, with more scars and much more maturity than Tom remembered, but Tom recognized him all the same.

 _Joe_.

His brain froze. He couldn’t do anything but stand there, staring at him.

“Tom?” Joe asked, grinning. “My god, is that you? Christ, you’ve grown.”

As Joe took a step towards him, Tom let out a shuddering exhale and stepped away.

He was shaking, wondering if he was somehow hallucinating, dread clenching within his chest. _This wasn’t happening._

“And who are you?” Will asked, defensively standing in front of Tom.

Joe looked from Tom to Will. “I might ask you the same question,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Tom was in shock, barely there. His thoughts weren’t coherent, and nothing was making sense. _Joe can’t be here,_ he told himself, _Joe is dead._ He placed his hand against the wall to steady himself, wondering if he’d lost his mind. 

“I’m the farrier, and you’re in the stables- I hold rank. I suggest you answer the question,” Will said, moving so he blocked Tom from Joe’s view.

Joe straightened up a bit, holding his chin up. “Farrier holds no rank against the future king,” he said proudly.

“Future king?” Will exclaimed, not quite understanding. “ _T_ _om_ is the future king!” 

“He’s second in line,” Joe said, and Will’s expression cleared. He stiffened, his jaw tightening as he looked Joe up and down.

“You’re Joe,” he said, and Joe nodded, trying to view Tom from behind Will. 

Tom was trying to breathe, but the oxygen wasn’t seeming to get through his lungs. He braced himself against the wall, touching his forehead to the wood. _Not happening not happening not happening not happening-_

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Will told Joe, anger slipping quite clearly into his voice.

Joe ignored his words, paying his only attention to Tom.

“Tom? Don’t you want to see your older brother?” Joe asked, paying no mind to Will and coming closer. Will shifted in front of him, preventing him from moving any further.

“Unless you want to spend the morning in prison, I advise that you allow me to see him,” Joe told Will, rearing himself up to his full height. Will did the same, a little taller than him.

The tears had gotten to Tom now, coursing across his cheeks. He was panicking, at a loss for breath or any kind of peace- his brain was racing at a thousand paces a second, and his heart was pounding much too fast, to the point that it scared him.

Everything was seeming to spin. His legs were giving out, shaking like a leaf, and he let himself slide down to the floor as he buried his head in his hands. Then nausea came, sick and burning, settling at the back of his throat.

Joe and Will were still arguing, with Joe yelling at Will to let him pass, even going so far as to shove Will out of the way. 

Tom tried to tell them to stop, to just _let him sit_ , but instead what came out was a strangled cry—the kind he hadn’t known he had in him. 

The two of them went silent.

“Tom,” Will uttered, sitting next to him as he murmured soft, comforting things

“What’s happening?” Joe asked Will, anxiously looking at Tom’s position. “What have you done?”

“ _Me?!”_ Will hissed incredulously. “He’s this way because of you! You try to imagine thinking your brother is dead for five years and see him show up out of the blue like nothing’s happened, and tell me how you’d react!”

“What are you talking about? He’s supposed to know I was…” he trailed off as Tom looked up at him, finally processing the situation.

“I was supposed to know you were _what?”_ Tom spat, half sobbing. “Alive?”

Joe’s face turned to stone. “My God, he didn’t tell you,” he said weakly.

Face setting into rage, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the stables, leaving Tom and Will to stare after him.

Tom was shaken, but he weakly managed to stand. “I have to go after him,” he mumbled.

“I’m coming with you,” Will told him, gripping his arm to stabilize him. Tom nodded, and they went along behind Joe into the castle, watching as he turned to a servant. 

“Where is the king?” he asked her. The servant gaped at him, clearly recognizing him. “I-In a meeting, my liege,” she stammered.

Joe stalked past her, heading in the direction of his father. Tom and Will followed his path, past the dozens of people who looked as if they had seen a ghost, past the newer, confused servants, past Leslie, who was guarding the door, and burst straight into the meeting behind Joe.

As the doors opened, everyone turned to look at them, pausing in the middle of what they had been saying. Joe didn’t even greet his father, simply got straight to the point: “You didn’t tell him?” he snapped.

“Joseph,” his father greeted him. He looked around at the men around him.

“Gentlemen, I must request that you clear the room,” he said. “I need to have a word with my sons.”

The members didn’t even attempt to argue, just silently left the room. Will went along with them, knowing he’d be banished as well if he tried to stay. Tom gave his hand a quick squeeze, then dropped it, nodding for him to go.

When the door closed behind them. Joe was fuming at his father, looking angrier than Tom had ever seen him.

“You didn’t _tell him_?” Joe repeated.

“He wasn’t ready,” Henry said.

“You were supposed to tell him at eighteen,” Joe said. “Eighteen! That was what we agreed!” 

“ _Agreed_ ,” Tom said numbly, feeling quite faint. “This was planned?”

“Yes,” Joe said, “And you were supposed to know the truth, as soon as you turned eighteen.”

“As I said, he wasn’t ready, Joseph,” their father said, much too calmly for the situation. “The reason we delayed telling him in the first place was because his immaturity risked him telling someone the truth. Hence why your mother did not know either. Tom never showed me he was in a state to take in that information and keep it a secret. So no, I didn’t tell him.”

“Mum doesn’t know?” Joe asked. “Are you fucking insane?”

The betrayal Tom felt in hearing all of this was second to none. They had planned this out, planned for Tom to think that Joe was dead. Tom didn’t care if they’d planned to tell him eventually- the fact that they’d been alright with him ever not knowing was enough to make him sick.

“I don’t care if you didn’t fucking think they were ready, they both deserved to know!” Joe said.

“I deserved to know from the start!” Tom cried, making both of them glance towards him. 

“I argued for that, Tom, I really did,” Joe said shamefully. “For ages, but he thought you were too young, that you’d tell someone and ruin the entire thing. I had hoped that I wouldn’t be gone long, that I’d just be missing for a few months and no one would have to grieve, but we agreed that if it went on longer than six months they’d have to pronounce me dead. He would only agree to it if you didn’t know. And things got complicated, and I had to stay. But I never once dreamt that he wouldn’t tell you, that he wouldn’t tell _Mum._ ”

“Did you know him at all?” Tom asked. “He hates me!”

Joe gave him a helpless look.

“Joseph, I couldn’t risk putting you in any more danger,” the king explained, ignoring Tom. “If you had been killed, Thomas never could have been a proper king, or sired a _meaningful_ heir.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Joe asked, noticing Tom’s flinch.

The king sighed. “Your brother has been displaying… how shall I put it- homosexual tendencies.” 

Tom’s heart skipped a beat. _No. He couldn’t have known—Tom had always been so careful. How did he know? Did he know about Will?_

Henry flashed a disgusted look Tom’s way, disregarding Joe’s silence.

“You cannot possibly believe that I would give an ounce of trust to an immature, insolent sodomite like that,” he told Joe. 

The room went silent, Joe’s face filling up with rage. One minute, Tom was looking at them, the next minute, there was a crack, and their father was holding his face, blood streaming from his nose. Joe had punched him.

Shaking his hand out, Joe gave the injury a satisfied look. “I didn’t know how to tell you this,” Joe said, “But I also have- how did you put it? _Homosexual tendencies_.” 

Henry touched his finger to the blood, pulling it away crimson. “Ah,” he said. “Seems both of my sons have disgraced me. I should have known your whore mother could never have given me a proper heir.”

That was the final straw. Joe went feral, jumping at his father. Tom watched as the two of them fell to the floor, Joe yelling and throwing punches, their father trying to return a few of them. Having heard the commotion, Leslie sprinted in, took in the scene, and ran towards the king in a futile attempt to pull Joe off of him.

“Tom,” Leslie called, struggling to stop Joe, “Come help me!”

Tom, who was rather enjoying the turn of events, didn’t budge.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Leslie exclaimed, finally managing to yank Joe away. “Fucking royalty!”

“What’s happened?” a voice called. It was their mother, standing at the door, and as she laid eyes on Joe, went white as a sheet.

“My God,” she said softly, then fainted.


	8. Life Gets a New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are there so many  
> Songs about rainbows  
> And what's on the other side  
> Rainbows are visions  
> They're only illusions  
> And rainbows have nothing to hide  
> -Paul Williams

After that, life went back to normal. Well, not normal- Tom wasn’t sure he really even knew what normal was anymore. But life got a sense of familiarity, a repeat of day to day.

Joe had sat down and explained everything to Tom, why he’d had to leave.

A group of radicals had threatened them, wanted to end the monarchy. They’d claimed to have a vision from God, that they were on a quest. Joe had needed to get intel, so he’d gone in. Once he’d been gone more than a few months, it had been necessary to fake his death, to avoid suspicion.

“They threatened us, Tom,” Joe had explained. “They were saying they had someone with inside information. And that they would use it to take down the Blake line.”

Joe had gone in, disguised himself as a new member, and worked his way up through the group. It had taken a long time to build trust, years. They were very private, and the leader was hardly ever seen. But Joe had done it, after five years. Joe had finally got to the top of the line, gotten to meet with the leader, plot his future locations, and then—with a select group of knights—took down the group. 

He revealed that as he’d taken the leader of the group into prison, he’d finally been able to figure out who the rat was. Mackenzie. It had been Mackenzie reporting back to them. 

Tom went a little numb hearing that. Yes, he’d hated Mackenzie, but he never could have imagined that.

“Fucking bastard,” Tom huffed, the only time he responded to Joe’s story. 

“He’s in prison now,” Joe replied. “He’s going to rot in prison until the day he dies.”

The vindication that sentence clearly brought Joe, only brought emptiness to Tom. He was sick of betrayal, sick of all the lies. Anger didn’t soothe him the way it soothed Joe.

Once Joe had finished explaining, Tom silently had gotten up and left. He knew Joe had wanted more of a response, but he was so tired, so emotionally raw. He just wanted to be in Will’s arms.

Tom got accustomed to seeing Joe daily, though he couldn’t forgive him just yet. The cut was too deep, softened only by nights with Will. 

His mother wasn’t taking the news well either—there were too many days that Tom would hear her screaming at his father for what he’d done, hear her crying for hours and hours. The servants whispered about it constantly. 

She even got their father to apologize to Tom, though it was a very half-hearted delivery. Tom didn’t care about apologies, he didn’t care about excuses. As far as he was concerned, there were only a select number of people he could trust anymore, and his father was not one of them. His words meant nothing.

Joe’s apology was a little better, more genuine.

“There’s no excuse for what I’ve done,” Joe said. “I know it hurt you. I’m so sorry, Tom, I’m so-” He choked up for a moment, digging his nails into his palm. “I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you,” he said softly, “Anything I can say…”

Tom shook his head in response, and Joe sat a beat in silence before he got up. He moved to touch Tom’s shoulder, but Tom flinched away. 

“Alright,” Joe said, turning to leave, “Alright.”

It was a few weeks before his mother approached him. She’d been distant the last few years, ever since Joe had gone, but she was more present now. Present and quite fierce. Tom didn’t mind her presence.

“My darling,” she murmured, apology melting into her face. “I’m so very sorry.”

She sat on his bed next to him, and he allowed her to gently stroke his hair, to pull him into an embrace.

“I’ve been locked away for a very long time,” she admitted. “I should have been here, I should have been with you.”

“Mom, it’s alright,” Tom started, but she shook her head.

“It isn’t. Emotionally, you were left with your father. Your father is a cruel man, and there is no excuse for him. But I should have been there to defend you. You are my pride and joy, my blossom. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

Tom gave her a half-hearted smile and squeezed her hand. He had forgiven her a long time ago.

The days turned into months, and while the pain faded somewhat, the anger did not. 

Tom felt as if he’d lost himself a bit, and it was a terrible feeling. At times he wondered if he’d ever be happy again. Will was an angel in the circumstances, holding him when he needed it, and Tom felt better whenever he was around him. 

But seeing his father? He felt like he could run into a field and scream and scream. Instead, he grew numb. His feelings grew into some muddy state of betrayal and anger at all times, but with no way to release it. 

After a few months of this distance between them, Joe began trailing Tom. Tom got used to it—his anger at Joe was somewhat subdued, though it was very much still there. He didn’t know how to drop it. He didn’t know to enforce that what they’d done was utterly unacceptable in every way, so he stayed angry. He clung to that feeling, that weight on his chest—it was familiar, though painful.

He eventually allowed Joe to come on a ride with him, into the sweet silence of the woods. Joe was silent until they stopped, and then he obviously wanted to speak.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Joe remarked. Tom barely looked up but gave a nod. He wished Joe would just be quiet, would just let him slowly heal. But Joe lingered a bit, clearly choosing his next words. 

“Tom,” he started, “I know you’re hurt, but... it’s been four months, and you’ve barely spoken a word to me since the first night I was here. I’ve apologized a million times. What more can I do? Can’t we move on?”

Tom turned to him in disbelief, anger writing itself into his expression. “Sorry that you’ve had to live like that,” he started, voice dripping with bitterness. “Because, you see, I had to live for _five years_ thinking you were _dead_. I’ve had to process that the brother I’ve idolized all my life somehow thought it was okay for me to think he was cold and buried, for me to grieve for him, even if it was just a period of two years- which it wasn’t! I’ve had to mourn for you, attend your funeral, go on without you thinking I’d never see you again!”

Tom’s voice hitched at the approach of tears, face flushed with lividity. “So I’m _sorry_ if you’ve had to live for four months without me speaking to you, because I’ve had a hard time processing that my own brother betrayed me like that!

“Tom, please,” Joe choked, on the verge of tears as well, “I was only trying to do what was right. I was only trying to save all of us! Dad wouldn’t let me go unless you didn’t know, and I didn’t know what to do, I was so young, I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying, of all of us dying. When I was gone, when it was so hard and lonely and cold that I wanted to give up, I always thought of you and your stories. God, Tom, if I could take it back I would! I missed you more than was bearable, I-”

He swallowed hard, looking down. “Forgive me, Tom, I know I’ve been selfish. I know that I’ve been awful. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Tom didn’t reply. He couldn’t— tears were threatening to spill, and he didn’t want to cry, he didn’t want to forgive Joe, he didn’t want to heal, he only wanted to be angry. But Joe gripped into a hug. Tom tried to push away.

“No, let go of me!” he cried, struggling against Joe’s arms, “Let go! I hate you! I hate you, let me go!”

But Joe only gripped him into his chest harder, and Tom gave into the tears, pounding at Joe’s chest with his fist.

“You should have told me,” he sobbed, “You should have fucking told me!”

“I know,” Joe murmured. “I know.”

Tom finally let himself be hugged, let Joe hold him as he cried. And Joe held him so tight that it seemed to squeeze all the anger out of Tom, all the anger he’d held so firmly within him for the past five months now turning into grief, spilling out of him with his tears. It was a while before either of them moved, besides Tom softly hiccuping. That always happened when he cried.

Joe finally softened his grip, and Tom felt sad at the loss of the warmth.

“Let’s go home,” Joe said. With the approach of the soft, bittersweet feeling that catharsis brought, Tom felt himself start to smile, really smile for the first time in five months. He was ready to move on, however long it took. He was ready.


	9. The Loss of the Cruel King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lights will guide you home  
> And ignite your bones  
> And I will try to fix you  
> -Coldplay

Love is a strange thing. It is so many feelings, all bundled in at once—anger, tenderness, aching. Bittersweet.

Tom had never considered that he might have loved his father. And he was quite sure that his father did not love him. But a day in the woods muddled all that into simply confusion. One seemingly simple day in the woods. 

It wasn’t meant to have happened, Tom thought afterward. His father wasn’t even supposed to be there. it had just been him, Will, and Joe at first. They’d been riding through the woods—Will and Joe’s relationship had relaxed, though Tom could tell that Will was still angry at Joe. But he’d never act on it, not if Tom didn’t want him to. And Tom didn’t—he’d been enjoying the return of his brother, the lightened weight off his shoulders. It was nice not to have to attend dinners alone anymore.

But then his father had joined them, with Leslie on his tail. Leslie was always around him—he’d replaced Mackenzie as the king’s personal guard. 

“Where are you going?” their father asked them. Tom opened his mouth to answer, but Joe got there before him.

“On a ride, just the same as you,” Joe said. “Now if you’ll kindly leave us.”

He turned away, and Tom and Will followed behind him.

“Tom,” his father called after him.

Tom frankly couldn’t muster it in him to care at all about what his father might say, and he kept riding. Their father continued after them. When they stopped in a clearing, dismounting, he was still there— but he stayed atop his horse.

“Just leave him alone, will you?” Joe snapped up at him.

“Joseph, stay out of this,” Henry replied.

“I’ve been out of this for five years. I think I’d prefer to be in it now,” Joe said tightly.

“Fine. Then I’ll speak to both of you,” his father said, “Because all I said then, all I did, I meant it, and I stand by it. I regret nothing.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Joe said, angry. “I’m not talking about this again. We’ve talked about it a million times—Tom is more of a man than you’ll ever be, and he deserved to know!”

“What I did, I did to protect you, Joseph,” his father replied. “But I never knew that you’d come back changed. That you’d come back....” 

He didn’t finish the thought, instead shifted his gaze down to Will, who was staring at him as if he were two seconds from committing murder. 

The king laughed mirthlessly, keeping his eyes fixed on Will. “You boys will never know the things I did for you. You think I don’t know your secrets? You think I haven’t hidden your sins to protect you? To protect us all?” 

“Father, stop-” Joe started, but the king interrupted him with another laugh, sounding a bit crazed. “You think I don’t know about you and Leslie, Joseph?” he said. “You think I don’t know about what you’ve been doing?”

Tom froze in surprise, but a knowing look crossed over Leslie and Joe’s faces.

_ Oh,  _ Tom thought. He hadn’t known about the two of them. 

“Stop,” Joe said coldly.

“And you, Thomas,” the king went on, “With the stableboy? Imagine what they’d do to him if the word got out—a homosexual seducing the prince? Prison, at least. But what did I do? I stayed silent. For the kingdom.”

Will’s hand had tightened into a fist, and Tom had to grab his arm to keep him from doing something stupid. Tom was used to the insults and empty threats, but Will was not.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it,” Tom murmured. “And he’s too prideful to ever tell anyone—they’d consider him a failure of a king and a father.”

Will relaxed a little bit, but his glare at the king did not cease. 

“I never once thought I would have raised two ungrateful brats,” the king continued, still half laughing. He was sounding so unhinged that it scared Tom— he’d never seen his father like this, and he took a step back. His father only continued on, pointing his finger for emphasis.

“But now I see that neither of you are fit for the throne,” he said, “Neither of you!”

His horse was beginning to get irritated by his aggressive movements, it was pulling against the reins, and Tom horrifically realised that his father’s feet weren’t in the stirrups—he always took them out when they got uncomfortable. 

Tom knew what was going to happen next, but couldn’t tear his eyes away as the horse reared up, his father sliding off its back. The king caught the impact on his hand, almost definitely breaking his wrist.

“Fuck!” the king screamed, struggling to get up—the ground around him was muddy, but he managed to grab the horse’s reins again with his unharmed hand. 

“Fucking thing,” he cursed, yanking on the reins hard. Tom’s breath was frozen in his chest, and he watched as his father slipped in the mud and fell, his full weight being put on the reins. The last thing Tom saw was the horse starting to rear up before Will shielded him, pulling Tom’s face into his chest. 

Tom heard an awful, terrible crack, and then the fading sound of the horse galloping away.

Then silence. Nothing but the sound of Will’s steady breaths. Tom tried to pull away to see, but Will’s arms kept him there, unable to move. 

“Will,” he said, frightened, pushing against Will’s chest, “What is it? What happened?”

“Don’t,” Will said quickly, hauntedly, “Don’t look.”

That chilled Tom to the bone, and he balled his fist into the fabric of Will’s shirt. Tears were at the back of his throat, rising up, but nausea was too, sick and hot. He started to shake violently, and Will tightened his grip, softly rubbing Tom’s back.

“My God,” he finally heard Joe say, “He’s gone.” 

His voice carried the same haunted tone that Will’s had, and it only made Tom feel worse to hear it. His father was dead.  _ Dead. _

Tom couldn’t process the word—his brain was spiraling with the things he would be met with if he looked. A sick part of him wanted to, wanted to know the devastating knowledge that Leslie, Will, and Joe all held now. The other part of him half-believed his father was still there, that if he’d peek over, he’d see his father grinning at him in some form of twisted joke.

“Get Tom away from here,” he heard Leslie instruct Will. “Get him… back to the palace. He shouldn’t see this.”

Tom felt Will give a nod above him, he felt Will’s grip loosen around him before he gently cradled the sides of Tom’s face, forcing Tom to look at him.

“Listen to me, Tom. Whatever you do, don’t look. Promise me you won’t,” Will instructed. 

Tom gave a nod. “I promise,” he mumbled, voice trembling.

Will stared into his eyes a moment longer before letting go of Tom’s face, placing his hands on Tom's shoulders instead, turning him in the opposite direction. Tom walked forward numbly, resisting the urge to look back. 

He didn’t register the walk home, didn’t even remember the path they’d taken. All he knew is that Will was with him, guiding him forward. The servants stared at them as they arrived, as if they could see what had happened from the look in their eyes. 

Will led him past them, up to Tom’s room. Once they had arrived, Tom’s knees buckled, and Will had to catch him, sliding down to the floor with Tom in his arms.

He’d felt so empty the way home, but now the tears came, and he buried his face in Will’s shirt as sobs wracked his body. He didn’t know what to feel, he didn’t know what to think—he hated his father, hated him, but now he was gone, and there was some sort of great loss welling its way in Tom’s chest. 

Tom was angry, he was exhausted, he was confused. He didn’t know what to do, so he cried. He cried for the image of his father falling from his horse that wouldn’t stop replaying in his mind, for the terrible crack he’d heard as his father had died, for the unnerved tone of voice Joe had held. 

_ “He’s gone,” Joe had said. _ What now? A new king would be crowned—surely it would be Joe. And a funeral, there would need to be a funeral. Tom didn’t want to think about that.

Will murmured soft comforting things to him as he cried, gently stroking Tom’s hair. Tom was soothed a little, Will’s gentle words acting as a salve.

Eventually, he stilled. He could hear Joe’s voice, hear a commotion happening downstairs. Will shook his head,  _ don’t move,  _ and Tom didn’t try to. He only clung to Will, trying to listen to what was being said, but the noise was all far too muddy for anything to be distinguished. Then came the sound of someone coming up the stairs, up towards his room, and Tom had barely managed to pry himself away from Will before the door opened.

It was his mother, ghostly pale. Tom stared at her a moment in silence, in loss. He didn’t know what to tell her.

“Tom?” she said softly. Joe was close behind her, and he gave Tom a devastated look as he entered. 

“We need to have a talk,” Joe said.


	10. And They Will Crown Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.  
> Just keep going.  
> No feeling is final.  
> -Rilke

The funeral was the worst part. Tom could survive all the rest, but the funeral? The entire country in grief, his mother’s constant sobbing, Tom’s mixture of anger, betrayal, and loss towards his father? That was nearly unbearable.

He could tell that Joe felt a similar conflict of feeling, torn about how to react just like Tom was.

But as Tom watched his father’s body go into the ground, he simply felt nothing. Numb. He did wish that Will was there to hold him, to comfort him, but Will was down with the other servants, further away and blocked from Tom’s view. 

Tom looked back towards Joe, to Leslie, who both bore an identical expression of solemnity. Tom didn’t know if he was glad his father was gone or not. He simply didn’t know. His father had been a bastard, awful, manipulative. Before he’d died, Tom had once thought to himself that he’d be happy never seeing his father again. He hadn’t meant it like that.

As he watched his mother give a speech over the grave, Tom’s feelings returned to him. He tried to compose himself, tried to choke back tears, especially when a few servants pointed Tom’s grief out to one another, giving him pitying looks.

As soon as the damned thing was finally over, Tom was immediately stalking away, feeling as though he couldn’t breathe. He found an empty spot in the woods, away from servant’s eyes, away from the body, _away,_ and gulped in a few deep breaths. 

He was sick of crying, but it never seemed to stop. 

“Tom,” he heard a voice above him say. Joe had followed him. He sat down next to Tom, lingering there for a couple moments in silence. 

“I’m refusing the crown,” Joe told him softly. “You’ll be the one on the throne.”

Tom’s tears halted immediately. “What?” he asked. “No, you can’t, you’re the one meant to be king!” 

Joe shook his head, fidgeting with his fingers. “I’m really not,” he said simply.

Tom stared at him a moment in shock. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. “You can’t be serious! You can’t leave it with me!”

Joe sighed. “I’m not right for it, Tom. You think the kingdom was alright to find out that I was alive, that I had left off on some mission and lied to them all for years?” he asked, shaking his head. “They despise me now, I've seen it firsthand. But you were there all the time, you were the one feeding them, clothing them, giving out supplies,” he said, looking toward Tom before continuing. “They trust you. You’ve grown so much since I’ve left, and I couldn’t be more proud. You’ll be a good king.”

“But… that means I’d- I’d have to marry as soon as possible,” Tom said, trying to swallow down the panic in his throat.

Joe nodded. “The woman they’d have you marry, Lauri—I’ve met her. She’s not exactly _interested_ in men. She has a secret marriage to her lady in waiting, Eleanor. It’d be easy for you two to disguise a relationship, she wouldn’t mind that you’re with Will. You would get along with her quite well.”

“And what? You decided this all without thinking to ask me?” Tom cried. “You didn’t bother to find out how I would feel about it?”

“Shit, Tom, I thought you’d be happy to have it,” Joe stammered quickly. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. I should have asked. If you really don’t want it, I won’t, but... it doesn’t feel right, it being me. Not when you were preparing for it the whole time I was gone.”

Tom calmed down a little, took the time to think about it. God, the only time he’d ever thought he’d been king was when it’d been thrust on him, and it had felt like such a burden. Of course, his father hadn’t helped with his constant insults and disapproval—he’d never felt good enough to be king. Tom had always, _always_ wished Joe had been there, alive and well to take the throne. And here Joe was.

Joe really had seemed the perfect king, though Tom could now see the desperation in Joe’s eyes for Tom to agree, for Tom to take the crown. But, being honest with himself, Tom knew that the Joe that sat in front of him now was very different from the brother that Tom had grown up knowing.

He didn’t know what Joe had seen or done when he’d been gone for all those years, but he caught glimpses of it. It taxed on him, in tiny moments that Joe’s composure slipped. He was no longer the man he had left as, no longer the older brother that Tom idolised. Tom still loved Joe, absolutely, but the veil had been lifted from his eyes—his brother was a flawed man. Not that Tom wasn’t, but he’d never have lied the same as Joe had. They were very different in that respect. 

And Joe was right about the kingdom not being happy—the people had been quite angry, particularly at Tom’s father, but at Joe as well. Tom had been spared the brunt of their fury along with his mother, once people had found out they’d also been kept in the dark. 

Tom knew that there had been several protests for him to take the throne instead of Joe, but he’d never thought about it. Never wanted it. 

Neither of them wanted it, Tom realised. His grandfather had said something of the sort, when Tom had been younger, how a good king never _wanted_ the throne but did his best with the power thrust upon him. 

And Tom knew that he could do so much good, that he wasn’t sure if Joe would be able to do. People were less likely to cooperate when they were less trusting, less likely to activate change. Perhaps it _would_ be better... 

“Where would you go?” Tom asked Joe, who sighed and leaned back into the sharp bark of the tree behind him. 

“Not far,” Joe said. “Leslie and I, we wanted… wanted something small. A cottage, maybe. Leslie wants to be near his family.”

Tom looked at him. “And you’d be happy?” he asked. “You’d visit me?”

“Yes,” Joe said immediately. “Very happy, and I’d of course visit you. I didn’t run off for five years of not being able to see you, only to come back and leave you again.”

Tom nodded, thinking more on it. 

“Alright,” he finally said, after what seemed like hours. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

Joe exhaled sharply, relieved. “Good,” he said, “The kingdom deserves someone like you.”

Tom didn’t know what to say to that. He gave Joe a smile, watched him get up and stretch.

Joe nodded back towards the palace. “Are you coming?” he asked. Tom shook his head.

“I want to be here a little longer,” he said. 

“Then take all the time you need,” Joe replied. Tom watched him go.

A few moments after he’d gone, Tom heard the approach of footsteps- Will, who sat down next to him.

“How are you feeling?” Will asked, scooting in closer to Tom, who rested his head on Will’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It was worse earlier, being there with Mum. I feel guilty, somehow. Like I caused it.”

“You didn’t,” Will insisted to him, “The only person who caused it was your father.”

Tom let out a short burst of air in frustration. “I _know,_ but it’s like my mind doesn’t,” he huffed. “I know, but I also don’t. And, God, a part of me still hates him—sometimes I’m glad he’s gone, but then I know I shouldn’t be glad about that.”

He looked at Will for a reaction, but Will was calm, non-judgemental. “He was awful to you. It makes sense that you’d be happy he’s gone,” Will told him, stroking his hair. 

“Yes, but I also don’t love him the way Mum did, or even Joe, I think,” Tom sighed. “And then at the same time I feel like I’ve lost something in me now that he’s gone, but I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

He swallowed hard, and Will took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Tom looked up at him, looked up at the man he loved, and found some sort of solace. He was almost content to move on, _almost,_ but he knew he’d regret it if he did—he wanted to say more. 

“I feel guilty for not grieving the same, when Mum is hurting so badly,” Tom continued. “Aren’t I supposed to be devastated, like she is? He was my dad! I feel like I’m awful, like I’m just some sort of heartless, terrible thing.”

“There’s no specific emotion you need to be feeling, Tom,” Will hushed him, his voice soothing. “The situation is confusing, and you had a complicated relationship with him. He hurt you. It’s understandable.”

“You really think so? I’m not heartless?” Tom asked, tears welling at his eyes. 

Will chuckled. “Yes, Tom, I definitely don’t think you’re heartless. And as for grief… people handle it in very different ways.”

Tom returned his head to Will’s shoulder, feeling a little better. They sat like that a while, Will wrapping his arms around Tom as they stared out in front of them. 

“Joe asked me to take the throne,” Tom finally said.

“What?” Will asked, too quickly to hide his surprise. “Why?”

“He said that, now that the people are angry at him, he’s not right for it. He wants me to be king,” Tom said. 

“And what did you tell him?” Will enquired. He was very composed, but Tom knew Will, he knew from the tighter than usual squeeze on his hand, knew from the slightest tremble in Will’s voice that he was nervous. 

“I said I would,” Tom said, turning to look up at Will. “Is that alright?”

“You don’t have to ask me before you do anything,” Will replied. Tom gazed into his eyes, settled his hand at Will’s jaw, realising why Will was scared.

“Oh, Will,” he said softly. “We can still be together. The woman I’m supposed to marry, Lauri, she wouldn’t be interested in me. Wouldn’t be interested in any man, for that matter—she’s with a woman.”

Will visibly relaxed, the tension sliding out of his shoulders as he gave a soft laugh. “Thank God,” he said. “I wasn’t prepared to give you up.”

Tom returned a grin, leaning in for a kiss. “But you would have let me go anyway?” he asked.

“If it made you happy,” Will told him. 

“It will, I think,” Tom said. “Make me happy. As long as I have you.”

Will slipped his hand into Tom’s. “You’ll always have me. I promise,” he murmured.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not always love you  
> But long as there are stars above you  
> You never need to doubt it  
> I'll make you so sure about it  
> God only knows what I'd be without you  
> -The Beach Boys

Tom had never felt so nervous as he did on the day of coronation. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he was so nauseous that he refused any food. Even Will couldn’t talk him down from his anxiety, though Tom was very glad to see him.

“It’ll be fine,” Will told him. “After all, you’ve done a million rehearsals for this.”

“Those were only rehearsals,” Tom said anxiously. “This time there’ll be hundreds of people watching me do it, trying to pinpoint if I’ll be a good king just from the time I’m in there.”

“Fuck them,” Will said. “You’ll be a brilliant king.”

“Oh, really?” Tom asked coyly. “I thought you wanted Joe to be king when we first met.”

“I did,” Will admitted, “But things changed. I thought he was dead, in the first place,  _ and  _ you also changed after we met.”

Tom nodded, wringing his fingers together, his mind elsewhere. 

“Tom, I know Joe is your brother, but I still think he’s a prat for what he did,” Will stated.

Tom laughed through his nerves. “I think you were more mad at him than I was,” he grinned. 

“I can’t deny it,” Will chuckled, sitting back on the bed and watching Tom fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. 

“Here, let me,” he said, standing and starting to fix them. He looked down to find Tom gazing up at him, oozing an endearing sort of affection. 

“I love you,” Tom told him. Will smiled, brushing Tom’s curls out of his face.

“I love you too,” Will replied, planting a soft kiss on Tom’s forehead. “You’ll be brilliant.”

Tom went a little pale at the reminder of what was about to happen, and his jaw set.

“Lauri is arriving today as well,” he said. “She’ll be watching the ceremony. We’re to marry in a month.”

“A month?” Will asked. “Christ, they want it soon.”

“Yes, they emphasized that they wanted it to happen as soon as possible,” Tom sighed. “That was as long as I could delay it without suspicion.”

“It’ll be alright,” Will said. He started to rub Tom’s back, but froze as Joe walked in, grinning

“Tom! How are you feeling?” Joe asked.

Tom let out a shaky breath. “Joe, you’re sure you don’t want it?” he questioned softly.

“Absolutely sure,” Joe confirmed. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Leslie was not far behind Joe, and the two of them quickly squeezed hands upon seeing each other.

“Tom,” Leslie said, “They’re ready for you.”

Tom gave Joe a panicked look, and Joe wrapped him into a hug. 

“You’ll do a fantastic job,” he assured Tom, who gave him a weak grin in reply. He waved goodbye to Will, then gave a nod to Leslie that he was ready.

Tom’s legs felt unstable—his knees were practically banging together, but he still managed to follow Leslie down the stairs. When he got out in front of everyone, he thought he might melt into the floor, he was so nervous, but Hepburn, the archbishop, just gave him a knowing smile. 

“Every king has their fears,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Don’t you worry, my lad.”

That soothed Tom a little, though his hands still shook.

The ceremony was dreadfully long at first, agonizingly, but as it went on, Tom relaxed more and it started to slip by. He was soon shocked to realise that he was nearing the end, and when he saw Will in the audience, he gave him a proud smile. As Will grinned back at him, Tom felt the weight of the king’s crown being placed over his head.

“All rise for the new king,” the archbishop instructed, and the audience all obeyed, rising out of their seats. 

“Thomas Alexander Blake,” Hepburn said, “May the kingdom live lives of joy and prosper under your rule. May you be as wise and noble as the many great men who ruled before you. May you always see God’s path that he has set in front of you for you to follow.” 

Tom gave a nod, and Hepburn turned out to the audience in front of the king.

“Long live the King!” he called, and the people all echoed his words. It was finally over—he’d done it.

Tom’s anxiety melted away, and he felt outstandingly happy as he stared out in front of him, seeing all the people. Some he recognised, some he didn’t, but he didn’t mind. 

After it was done, he wandered around after, being introduced to several people from different kingdoms. Eventually, he found himself in front of a girl with very kind brown eyes.

“Thomas, this is Lauri, your betrothed,” Hepburn introduced. 

“Oh!” Tom said. “Lauri! Hello!”

She laughed a bit at his enthusiasm, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she greeted him.

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” Hepburn said. “To get acquainted.”

Both of them watched him leave. Tom wasn’t sure what to say, but luckily Lauri intervened for him.

“You look like your brother,” Lauri told him. 

“I hear that a lot,” Tom replied. 

Lauri’s face slipped into solemness, and she quickly glanced around to make sure they were out of earshot of everyone else.

“He told you? About me?” she asked quietly, giving him an intense look. Tom could tell that she was trying to figure out how much he knew. 

“Yes,” he responded. “He told me about you, about… Eleanor.”

She gave a relieved sigh, smiling. “Good,” she said. “Listen, Tom, I know it won’t be easy for you—you could have other women when I’m not there, I wouldn’t mind-”

“Oh,” Tom said quickly, “I’m not—I don’t need that.”

“No?” she asked. “Really, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I have someone,” Tom blurted, “His name is Will.”

A look of understanding crossed her face. “I see,” she said with a grin. “It seems this is meant to be.”

“Yes,” Tom said. “Yes, I think it is.”

And, as Tom saw Will wave at him from the corner of the room, he truly meant it.

It was meant to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god. if you've gotten this far, I love you. thank you so much for reading. have a great day/night


End file.
